


new ways to fall apart

by stevenstamkos



Series: let's set the world on fire (tonight) [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2016 World Cup of Hockey, Exhibitionism, M/M, Public Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8116249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevenstamkos/pseuds/stevenstamkos
Summary: Nate gets the OT winner and well, he’s earned the right to call the shots.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go, as usual, to Elise, Letícia, and Wes for being awful enablers. Also to that one anon on tumblr who immediately messaged me after the win to ask if there's going to be more Jo/Nate porn, because I'm predictable.
> 
> Title from "We Are Young" by Fun

It’s the easiest thing in the world, putting the puck in the back of the net. It’s like breathing. The sound of his skates cutting through new ice, the puck on his tape, no one but him and the goaltender. Lundqvist lunges, tries a poke check, and Nate dekes around him, goes to his backhand, and elevates the puck over Lundqvist’s blocker. He’s skating away, tracking it with his eyes and grinning before it can even hit twine.

The sound of the goal horn is the sweetest fucking thing in the world.

The rest of the Team North America bench is piling on him and Nate’s stumbling under the weight of his teammates, their profanity-filled yelling, the screaming fans. This is why he plays hockey. For the love of the win.

He breaks away to get some air, and his teammates are settling down enough to come up to him in twos and threes to personally congratulate him. Colton pounds his back with a huge hand, a silly puppyish grin spread all over his face. Jo bumps fists with him and slides into his hug. It's like a puzzle piece slotting home.

Nate can barely believe it. They came in here, a group of kids with chips on their shoulders playing against the best players in the world, and they showed everyone. They’ve been showing everyone all tourney long that they’re fast and skilled, that they’re not to be taken lightly, that they’re not going away. And now they’re going to the semis.

In the locker room, Davo’s smiling big and helpless, and his face is goofy with joy as he addresses the group of half-undressed boys. “Good game, guys. I think we really came through with this one, pulled it together after losing momentum.”

Eichs yells, “49 fucking shots on goal!” when Davo pauses for a breath.

Davo’s face is stupid with fondness when he looks at Eichs. “49 fucking shots, and 70 chances last I heard. And Nate, that was—” Davo laughs. “Buddy, that was good.”

The boys hoot and slap the wood of their stalls in approval. Eichs’s voice carries over it all. “Mac Daddy doin’ it again!”

Jonesy chucks his gross sweater at Nate’s face. “Big Mac’s got our back!”

“Sick hands from the Mac Attack!”

Nate stares at all the joyous faces turned towards him. There’s really nothing much he can say. “Fuck, boys, we did it. We’re through!”

This sets off another round of cheering and as the volume swells, Nate catches Jo’s eye across the room. Jo’s biting his lip, twisting a towel between his fingers, and his face is a blatant invitation that Nate can read clear as day.

Nate swallows, forces himself to breathe normally. He heads to the showers, and as he does, he sees Eichs lay a smacking kiss on Davo's mouth. A few of the guys cat-call good-naturedly. Nate’s been noticing that a lot over the past two days, and not just with those two. He’s seen a few open kisses here and there, Jonesy not even trying to hide his affection for Ry Murray. After the loss to Russia, they’ve been working hard, bonding over the desperation that comes on the threshold of a must-win game. Walls are coming down, things slip through the cracks, but it’s okay. No one seems to care about what anyone gets up to at night. Somehow after only a few weeks together, these guys feel like team.

The water’s a bit cold when it hits Nate’s skin, but he barely has time to think that before there’s warm skin pressed all along his back, a pair of arms around his waist. “Jo,” Nate says, turning around, a little shocked at Jo’s boldness. But why shouldn’t he be? They just won, the boys are red-hot, and no one gives a damn if Jo joins him in his shower.

“That goal was fucking great, Nate.” Jo’s too eager, hands roaming over Nate’s chest even though there’s barely room to move and his elbows keep bumping the walls. “So fucking hot.”

Nate kisses him quiet, licks into Jo’s mouth and thumbs the cut of his hip.

After a moment, Jo breaks away, tries to get on his knees in the cramped cubicle, and Nate catches him. “Woah, what are you doing?”

“Wanna thank you for that sweet OT win.” Jo’s looking at him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. It kind of is.

But Nate’s been turning an idea over in his head for a while now, and while shower sex—a shower blowjob—sounds great in theory, it’s not very practical in the tiny showers of the Air Canada Center. Plus, he’s a little worried Jo will drown if he tries.

He tells him as much. “You’re going to have water all over your face the whole time if you try that here.”

Jo pouts but gives in and goes back to kissing Nate. It’s still fantastic.

As he strokes his tongue slow over Jo’s, running a hand up and down his back—Jo shivers, a little ticklish and a lot aroused, if what Nate’s feeling against his hip is any indication—Nate keeps thinking. He can’t get this stupid idea out of his head. Jo would never agree to it, it’s too much too fast, it’ll be weird—Nate shouldn’t ask. He really shouldn’t.

“Can I try something?” he breathes into Jo’s mouth.

Jo doesn’t answer for a second, just digs his teeth lightly into Nate’s bottom lip before humming softly in assent. He’s clearly in no mood to stop.

Nate has to pull back for this part. Jo moves to follow, lips chasing Nate’s, and Nate has to force himself to catch his shoulders and hold him still. Jo opens his eyes.

“This is serious.” Jo’s face falls a bit, and Nate hurries to clarify. “What we were talking about last night—I know it sounded like I was joking, but I wasn’t, not really. If you wanna try it, I’m game.”

“What, right now? Here, with them?” Jo tilts his chin towards the main room, where the boys are slowly getting less rowdy as the immediate excitement of their win dissipates into just another good mood.

Nate nods. “Yeah. It’s okay if you don’t want to—”

“But you wanna?” Jo’s eyes are big.

Nate laughs a little, half nervous half aroused. “I really wanna. But it’s up to you—”

“You got that sweet goal for us tonight, Nate,” Jo interrupts. “You call the shots tonight. Whatever you want, I’m in, one-hundred percent. _Anything_.”

Wow that’s—that’s some kind of power trip. Nate can barely believe that Jo’s putting everything in his hands, giving Nate full control—Nate can do so much—

What he ends up doing is teasing Jo to the brink, stroking him with a slow, firm touch until Jo’s writhing in his arms. When he sees Jo’s lashes flutter in that telltale way they do right before he comes, Nate squeezes the base of his cock and chokes off his orgasm. Jo lets out a high, frantic whine.

“Hey, hey, calm down, Jo. I’m not done with you yet. Gonna make you feel so good.”

“Want you to make me feel good _now_.”

“It’ll be worth it, promise. I’m calling the shots, remember? Don’t touch yourself.” Nate turns the water off and steps out of the shower, and when he turns back to see Jo’s face, he has to stifle a laugh. Jo’s standing frozen in the shower cubicle looking mutinous, his fingers twitching with the need to wrap them around himself. There’s a war going on behind his eyes, but it looks like discipline is winning, because his hands stop shaking after a few long seconds.

Nate tosses him a towel and wraps one around his waist, watches Jo do the same. He sweeps his eyes from the vulnerable hollow of Jo’s throat down to the obvious bulge in the front of his towel. Jo’s flushed, a look of horny impatience on his face, but he’s being good and waits for Nate to make the first move.

The whole team’s still in the main room, dressed and chatting amongst themselves with tired contentment. When they enter, Nate first and Jo following so closely behind he’s practically rubbing up against Nate, a few knowing eyes turn toward them. But for the most part, everyone’s hanging out waiting for the bus to come pick them up.

At his stall, Nate cups Jo’s face, swipes his thumb over that elegant cheekbone, and kisses him in plain sight of the entire team.

A few boys wolf-whistle, but when Nate doesn’t stop kissing Jo, turns the kiss from chaste to dirty, the playful teasing falters. Around the room, the chatter slows, then peters off until only Johnny is talking, intent on Auston, but then even his voice is stuttering to a stop.

Nate’s heart is pounding in his ears. He wants to look, wants to gauge their reactions, but he knows he shouldn’t. The hand on Jo’s cheek slides into his hair, his other hand coming up to grope Jo’s ass through his towel, and Jo’s shameless, grinds against Nate’s thigh and moans right into his mouth.

There’s a heartfelt, whispered “Fuck” somewhere off to Nate’s left. He’s not sure who says it, and he doesn’t particularly care. Sounds like no one’s moved a muscle.

Nate uses his fistful of Jo’s hair to tilt his head back and to the side so the whole expanse of his neck is there for his taking. He lowers his mouth again, whispers, “Can’t come, ok? Not ‘til I do.” into Jo’s ear, and Jo’s shaking a little, though Nate doesn’t know if it’s from arousal or nerves or both. He groans softly when Nate’s lips find his throat.

“Big Mac’s taking his prize tonight, eh?” That sounds like Mo Rielly. Nate sucks harder, enough to leave a bruise that Jo will wear for days, and Jo sighs, reaches up to grab Nate’s arms for balance.

“Shut up, man.” Saader’s voice is breathless.

“What, I’m just saying he fucking deserves it.”

Ghost coughs a little, clears his throat awkwardly. “...It’s kinda hot.” He’s pitched his voice low, close to an embarrassed whisper, but the room’s pretty fucking dead silent except for Jo’s soft sounds.

There’s an awkward pause, and then Sean is agreeing hesitantly.

If they’re on board, Nate can take it one step further...

He slips the tips of his fingers under the edge of Jo’s towel, spends a second enjoying the firmness of the muscle underneath before shoving the towel down and off altogether. It’s not uncommon for any of them to be standing around naked in the locker room, but never like this, teased and hard and panting softly in Nate’s ear. Nate gets a handful of Jo’s ass, squeezes gently, slips his fingers between the cheeks and rubs lightly at Jo’s hole. He can’t do much more than that without lube, but he doesn’t need to; Jo loses his breath and his knees are shaking so hard that Nate’s surprised he’s still standing. His dick’s leaving a wet trail along Nate’s hip.

Nate pushes on Jo’s shoulder, and Jo goes down eagerly, kneeling with his back to the room. He nuzzles the front of Nate’s towel and mouths at his dick, impatient. The material’s too thick for Nate to feel much, but the surprised exclamations—quickly hushed—are enough to make him feel off-balance and almost dizzy with arousal.

Nate wishes he could fuck Jo here in front of their teammates, sear the sight of it into their brains. He wishes they could see Jo on his hands and knees, back bowed and running with sweat, almost crying with every thrust, trying not to put a hand on his neglected cock. He wishes they could hear the little hiccuping cries Jo makes when he’s overstimulated, squirming on the end of Nate’s cock and still desperate to come again. These are good memories for Nate. And his team did so well tonight, well, they deserve a little memory like that too.

(Maybe a little part of him also wants to show Jo off.)

Jo looks up at Nate, a plea in his eyes, and Nate loosens his towel, slides it off to give Jo what he wants. A low, grateful moan escapes Jo as he wraps his lips around Nate’s cock, and fuck, Nate’s so hard, he’s not going to last long enough to really give the boys a show.

He hears a few groans. Someone says, “Oooh, fuck. Oh shit. That’s—fucking hot.”

Nate threads his fingers into Jo’s thick hair as Jo begins sucking in earnest, and it’s so fucking good, all wet heat and Jo and their teammates frozen in their stalls, unable to look away.

“You want them to touch you?” he asks, loud enough for their teammates to hear. More than a few breaths catch. Nate presses his thumb to the corner of Jo’s lip and rubs at the spot where his cock’s disappearing into his mouth. “Jo, you want that, babe?”

Jo can’t speak, not with his mouth filled, but his eyes are shining. He’s so fucking beautiful that Nate has to take a moment to catch his breath. (Though that might also be from the way Jo’s pulling back, tonguing at his slit, swirling his tongue over the sensitive head before sliding back down in an easy glide.)

“We can touch?” Eks’s voice is low and reverent. Nate finally stops pretending to ignore them, looks up and sees the whole room staring. Eks’s eyes are glued to Jo’s bobbing head. A few guys have their hands discretely shoved in their pockets, and Nate can guess what they’re doing through the thin fabric.

It might be fun, seeing his teammates pet Jo, torment him with touches while he fights not to come. But Nate knows himself too well, and while he’s cool with sharing Jo like this, giving his teammates a feast for their eyes, he’s not too hot on the idea of anyone else’s hands on Jo.

“Maybe later,” he says instead. The boys don’t seem to mind; they’re hungrily watching Jo work Nate’s cock. Jo’s hands are clenched into tight fists on his bare thighs, and his own cock is angry red and dripping against his stomach.

Nate pets the top of his head. “You wanna touch yourself, Jo? You can if you want.”

Jo whimpers around his mouthful, swallows hard—Nate moans outright—and his hands have uncurled so he can dig his blunt fingernails into his thighs. He tries shaking his head. Nate takes pity on him.

“You need somewhere to put your hands?” Nate offers his own.

Jo’s hands fly up to grasp Nate’s, and it’s a little awkward holding hands while Jo’s blowing him, so Nate settles Jo’s hands on his hips. They immediately gravitate to his ass, and Jo’s pulling Nate forward, deeper into his mouth. It’s a lot, too much too fast—

Nate pulls out, and Jo’s making lost distressed noises through puffy red lips, straining forward “Nate, please, let me—I _wanna—_ ”

It’s seriously a power trip, seeing Jo so desperate for his cock in front of the guys they’ve been living and playing with for three weeks. Nate feeds him the tip just to keep him quiet.

“Fuck his mouth, Nate,” someone suggests breathlessly.

Yeah, that sounds like a great idea, actually. From the way Jo’s eyes are getting big and his cheeks hollow with a hard suck, he thinks it’s a great idea too.

It’s good and easy, rocking back and forth into Jo’s mouth. Nate’s just rolling his hips, still gentle, still petting Jo’s hair. Jo’s mouth goes slack as he relaxes his jaw to open up his throat, and Nate fucking—loses it, slams in a bit harder than he meant to.

“Jo, fuck, sorry man,” he gasps as Jo chokes.

“That was a lot,” Eichs whispers. (Not that Eichs is really capable of whispering.)

There are the beginnings of tears in Jo’s eyes, but he’s urging Nate on, and Nate really can’t say no to that. He can’t last much longer, not when his entire length is wet and sloppy, not while Jo palms his ass and digs his nails into the backs of Nate’s thighs. Nate’s not a robot, okay, and Jo’s not holding back.

Someone stifles a moan in the background.

Nate looks down, watches his cock disappear again and again into Jo’s mouth, and he means to say something sexy, something filthy that’ll get Jo hot—

“God—look at you, so fucking—beautiful,” is what comes out of his mouth instead in between moans.

Jo blinks up at him once, slow and knowing, mouth stretched wide, and that’s it, game over. Nate’s a fucking goner.

He gasps, reaches back so he can brace himself against his stall, and comes in Jo’s mouth. And Jo fucking swallows like a champ, like it’s a reward, and wow, Nate could probably come again he’s looking so good—

There are a few breathless whoops from the boys, teasing calls mixed with admiration and gratitude for the show, but Nate’s forgotten them for a moment. Jo’s looking up at him, still holding him in his mouth, warm and adoring and a bit impatient. His cock’s still leaking between his legs.

Nate was wrong, earlier. The goal horn is nice, hockey is nice, everything about getting to do what he loves is nice. But Jo and his curling hair and his crooked smile and his shining eyes, so wide and trustful—those are the sweetest things in the world.

“C’mere.” Nate needs to take a seat in his stall, legs too unsteady to hold him. Jo practically flings himself into his lap. “You were so good for me tonight, babe. How do you want it?”

“Don’t care. Any way. _Please_ , touch me,” Jo babbles.

Nate cups his balls, rolls them in his palm. Jo sobs. “What do you think, boys?”

“Give it to him slow,” Larks suggests.

“Fuck no,” Johnny snaps. “Jo’s thanked Nate for us all, let him get his reward.”

Nate nods. “Yeah, that sounds good. You want your reward now, don’t you, babe?”

Jo’s nodding frantically, a keen escaping him as Nate continues to pet him, stroking slowly over the hot, tight skin. He cries out a little when Nate removes his hand, but Nate’s holding his fingers up to his face. “Get them wet.”

Jo’s mouth, already red and used, accepts Nate’s fingers easily. Nate lets him suck on them for a few seconds before replacing them with his own mouth. His hand goes back to Jo’s balls, strokes once, then dips down. Jo shivers when one wet finger circles his hole. Nate presses gently, intent, then comes back with two fingers and rubs lightly.

“ _Nate, please, can’t, need—_ ”

“It’s okay, Jo, got you babe,” Nate whispers against his lips. His free hand ghosts over Jo’s cock, wraps firmly around it and begins stroking.

It’s too much for Jo, who’s been on the edge for fucking ever now. He sucks in half a breath and wails softly into Nate’s mouth. His eyes are caught open, stunned.

Jo gets come everywhere. Figures he’d be this messy in front of their teammates. Nate’s not cleaning up this stall.

“Good job, man,” Sean says, nodding respectfully at Jo, who’s curling up against Nate’s chest and is busy tucking his face into Nate’s neck. Jo waves at the boys, exhausted.

A few of the guys come up to them and gently punch Jo’s shoulder or ruffle his hair, showering him with praise. Nate can feel Jo’s lips curling up into a pleased little smile.

“Get cleaned up, we’ll hold the bus for you,” Davo says.

A few of the boys grumble good-naturedly. Jonesy groans. “Fuck, man, I gotta clean up too.”

But they all trickle out respectfully, leaving Nate and Jo to their privacy. Jo lets out a soft huff of laughter.

“When you said last night that you wanted to have public sex at some point, I didn’t think you meant in front of our _teammates the very next day_.”

“It was good though, right? Good way to celebrate making it to the semis?”

“Yeah, really good.” Jo yawns. “Sweet goal, by the way.”

Nate presses a kiss to his temple and holds him.

 

 

  

(They find out later that they didn’t clinch, that whether they’re going to the semis or not depends on whether Russia wins tomorrow. It’s heartbreaking and frustrating, having control of their fates taken right out of their hands.)

 

 

 

Russia wins 3-0 against Finland, and North America is going home. Nate can barely believe it’s over. They played so well, were so dominant, it’s hard to believe that they didn’t advance. They missed the semis by 4 minutes and 11 seconds.

After that, there’s not much point to hanging around Toronto. Training camp is starting, and Nate’s needed back in Colorado. He waits a day to say goodbye to his new friends, promises to keep in touch, before catching the first plane out to Denver.

“Text me, eh?”

Jo shoulders his bag and nods. “Yeah, Nate, of course.” His hair’s sticking up from under his snapback, bags starting to form under his eyes, and every move leaves behind an echo of exhaustion. Nate knows how he feels. Neither of them got much sleep last night, too wrapped up in each other, losing the night to soft pants and damp skin and the hot, welcoming clench of Jo’s body.

“I’ll see you around, Jo,” Nate says.

The smile on Jo’s face is sad. “We’ll go for sushi,” he offers.

“Yeah, sounds good. You’re buying, hot shot.”

Jo doesn’t protest, just leans in to steal one last kiss in the middle of the busy airport terminal, and Nate doesn’t know how he can give this up, how he can go back to cold nights in an empty bed, a void on his left wing that’s never really filled by the right person.

“October 20th,” Jo whispers against his lips. "See you in Tampa." Nate kisses him again, barely more than a press of their mouths together.

On the plane, Nate stares out the window and tries not to think about their early exit. All he can see is clouds for miles and miles. He’s suspended in a world of white, caught between one breath and the next, between Team North America and Toronto and the Colorado Avalanche and Denver. And Jo, always, always caught between hockey and Jo.

It doesn’t have to be a choice anymore.

He slides the window shut.

 

 

 

They didn’t win the World Cup, but Nate got something better.


End file.
